Give An Ottsel A Missile
by Distant Glory
Summary: When Torn asked Jak and Daxter to "make some noise", this is NOT what he meant.


Torn is much nicer to the Demolition Duo in 3 than II. I wanted to do something with that.

Massive thanks to Zaz9_zaa0 for the title! And the beta.

(I know that if you go into this mission from Level Select, Torn actually does tell Daxter to ride the missile. But I'm ignoring that in this fic for Gen Purposes.)

 _Disclaimer:_ I own nothing. This is probably for the best.

* * *

 **Give An Ottsel A Missile...**

Torn left the Naughty Ottsel just in time to see Daxter leap onto the missile and shoot off into the Port. The Freedom League Commander gaped. What the—What exactly did Daxter hope to accomplish with this, except turning himself into an ottsel fireball!?

Sprinting over to Jak, Torn grabbed his shoulder. "What the _hell_ is he thinking?"

"I have no idea!" retorted Jak, wrenching himself free. "He just said he'd handle this and then jumped on!" He began frantically searching the missile launcher for some kind of control system. Which he wasn't likely to find—Torn's bet was that the remote was either still attached to the missile, or was now at the bottom of the Port.

"Don't bother," said Torn, snatching his comm from his belt. Thank God that they'd though to put one of the comm trackers in Daxter helmet."Mar's toned—you haven't even been back for a _day_ and you're already giving me heart attacks."

Without waiting for Jak to reply, he keyed the thing on. "Okay, Hot and Heavy," he snarled. "Make sure you don't hit anything, or you and that missile are _toast._ "

"Thanks for the tiiiiiiiiip!" howled Daxter on the other end. Jak and Torn watched the glow of the missile's afterburners swerve wildly to the left—and picked up the second charge.

"Nice!" snapped Torn into the comm. "That's one eco charge. Now find another!"

Jak covered his face with both hands—whether with fear or exasperation, it was impossible to say. Torn's bet would be for both.

Daxter's panting could be heard even over the roar of the missile. "This thing needs a steering wheel! Or at least some handlebars!"

"I'll be sure to mention that to our designer," said Torn, fighting to keep sarcasm from leaking into his voice. If Daxter could pull this off, it _would_ be in their best interests to make the missiles easier for him to control. "All future missiles must be rideable by orange furry rodents. Take a left. You're going to have to jump to get the next one."

"Who the hell set these things up!?" screeched Daxter. The glow of the afterburners bounced on the water as Daxter tried frantically to figure out how to make the thing hop on command. "What was wrong with nice straight lines!?" Moments before he laminated himself to the walkway supports, the missile performed its first proper jump—and neatly absorbed the eco charge on top.

"Because it would have been too unstable," said Torn, beckoning Jak back towards the Naughty Ottsel. They couldn't see all the way across the Port—they were going to need the map back in the building. "Put the charges too close together and they'll be attracted to one another and go off too soon. We would have blown up the Port, and most of our munitions with it." The door whooshed open. Torn jogged to the flat display and called up the map they needed.

On the other end of the comm, Daxter screeched, "Out of the way, road hog!" Torn heard startled yelps and the sound of something armoured being knocked aside, and winced. Apparently some of his men hadn't gotten out of the missile's path fast enough. It was a miracle that they hadn't set it off prematurely—they must have only caught a glancing blow.

Torn wasn't going to count on a miracle like that twice.

"Tell him where to go," he said to Jak, tossing him the comm. "Red triangle is Daxter's position. Yellow circles for eco charges. Blue crosses for mines. Green for subs. Grey for structures." Without waiting for Jak's reply, he stabbed another button, one that allow him to broadcast across every Freedom League frequency. It was a risk—the less focused the signal, the more chance there was that the KG and that impossible lunatic Errol would be able to eavesdrop—but Torn was counting on the fact that they wouldn't have time to respond.

"Attention all Freedom League units," he said, leaning into the mic. "This is Commander Torn. We are currently charging a missile in the Port to break through the KG defences between us and the northern front. Clear the walkways of civilians and for Mar's sake be ready to drop flat if you hear it coming." He glanced over at Jak, who was tracing the path of the eco charges with one finger and speaking rapidly into the comm. The red triangle was wavering all over the place, but it hadn't hit anything yet—and Daxter had collected maybe a third of the charges. "The missile control system is…unstable."

"Commander Torn, this is Captain Schmidt on patrol route bravo," said a brisk voice. "The missile just passed us, and an orange rodent—"

Jak's head snapped towards the speaker, eyebrows slamming down in a ferocious scowl. Torn just raised an eyebrow at the younger man. Reluctantly, Jak went back to guiding Daxter towards the next eco charge.

"—appears to be _riding_ it."

"I'm aware," growled Torn. "You can thank him for the fact that the missile hasn't been prematurely set off. You know how much trouble we've been having with the remote control systems."

There was a slight pause. "Understood, Commander," said Captain Schmidt. "I'll make sure that my patrol clears any civilians from the area."

"Good. Once you've cleared the area, find yourselves a place where you can wait for the front to be broken. The KG will probably respond quickly once we break the barrier."

"Understood, Commander. Over and out."

The line clicked back into static, and Torn released the transmission button with a shake of his head. The Freedom League was still divided on Jak and Daxter. He hoped they'd come around in time—but in the meantime, he'd have a little chat with the officers about how they referred to the duo.

How had this become his life?

He looked back over at the map, and watched the red triangle wobble its way between a triangle of blue crosses, a cold chill running down his spine. Was Daxter _trying_ to get himself killed?

"That was close," muttered Jak.

A breathless, vaguely hysterical laugh came from the other end of the comm. "Don't remember Misty Island, Jak? Rule number one—"

"—always avoid the mines," completed Jak with a faint chuckle of his own.

"Those were simpler days," said Daxter mournfully. Then he yelped, and on the screen, Torn watched the red triangle wrench itself around, missing the next eco charge in its wild swerve away from the wall. There was a splash as the missile hit the water again.

"Circle around," he instructed. "You've gotta keep control, Daxter."

The missile pulled itself around in a wide arc. There was a grating scrape as Daxter hopped it back onto the concrete walkway—and this time, he hit the eco charge dead on.

"Piece of cake!" announced Daxter, and aimed for the next charge.

Torn checked the missile read-out as another yellow circle vanished from the map. Almost there...

"Nice flying, buddy," he said. "The missile's almost fully armed. Keep going!"

"You can do it, Dax," put in Jak, still trying to bend the screen casing with his bare hands.

"I got this," said Daxter, almost too quietly to hear. Then, louder, "I got this!"

Torn breathed a laugh. "Go, baby, go!"

Mar help him, the little fuzzball seemed to be getting the hang of this. Torn watched charge after charge vanish from the screen in the missile's wake, with only minimal wobbling. And then the missile had picked up the last charge, and was speeding on a direct course for the KG barrier.

Daxter must have realised, because he started to scream.

"Get clear, Daxter!" shouted Torn, hoping that the little rat could hear him.

A huge explosion thumped its way through the comm, then a loud _crunch_ that could only have come from a piece of falling debris. And then…nothing.

"Daxter," Torn said tersely. "Daxter, come in." Nothing.

The comm on the other end hadn't been damaged—Torn could hear the crackle of flames on the other end.

"So help me, fuzzball, you'd better respond," growled Torn. "Or I'll—"

A frantic series of grunts saved him from having to think of an appropriate threat. Torn and Jak both listened, frozen in place, to the sound of loud, nearby panting. Finally, there was a loud scrape, a crackle of static, and—

"Or you'll do _what_ , Tattooed Wonder?" demanded Daxter, clearly pissed. "Because lemme tell ya, there's _no way_ it can be worse than having half a ton of concrete drop on you after you bail off a _freaking missile!_ "

"You can't be that badly hurt," said Torn dryly, trying to conceal his relief. "Your mouth's still working."

"Yeah? Well, you know what this mouth has in it? A bunch of teeth! _That I can bite you with!_ "

"Save it for the KG robots," Torn told him. "Since they'll be coming to defend the front in about thirty seconds. The Freedom League is on its way, so get yourself clear. Jak's coming to pick you up."

He clicked the comm off before Daxter could respond, and checked the position of his men. Sure enough, they were streaming towards the broken barrier. Good. Now they could start to make up some of the ground that they'd lost in the last couple of weeks. As soon as Jak got back with Daxter—

Except that Jak hadn't left yet. There was an odd look on his face, one that Torn couldn't quite figure out. The best he could do was 'not angry'—and that didn't go very far. "…what?"

Jak ducked his head and rubbed the back of his neck. Torn's unease increased. He had a bad feeling that—

"I didn't think you—never mind." Jak shook his head.

Torn resisted the suddenly strong urge to bury his face in his hands. Not because Jak hadn't figured out that they actually gave a damn about what happened to the two of them—Jak could be incredibly dense, and anyone would be a bit touchy about loyalty after being kicked out of the city they'd saved—but because they were half an inch from having a heart-to-heart, and Torn _sucked_ at that kind of thing.

The things he did for these kids.

"Didn't think I what?" he gritted out.

Jak scratched at the back of his head, apparently as embarrassed by this as Torn was and doing a far worse job at hiding it. (Well, Torn was _fairly_ sure that he was hiding it. Thank Mar for what Daxter called his 'resting bitch face'.) "…didn't think you cared," muttered Jak, barely audible.

What Torn wouldn't give for something to shoot right now. How the hell did you respond to that?

"If you _ever_ tell Daxter, I will personally strangle you with your own scarf," Torn growled. He could just imagine the material Daxter would pull out in response to _that_ discovery.

Jak blinked. Then, slowly, he began to grin. Torn wanted to groan. That smirk could only be described as 'shit-eating', and it spelled out 'trouble' in gigantic neon letters.

"Good luck with that," said Jak.

Right. Dark eco-fuelled powerhouse.

Dammit.

Torn tried out a glare, but it was half-hearted at best.

"Go get the little fuzzball," he ground out. "We're not done by a long shot."

"No problem," said Jak. He still had that stupid smirk as he turned and walked away.

Torn resisted the urge to slam his head against the nearest wall. All he could do now was trust that Jak wouldn't sell him out to the little rodent.

If Daxter knew that Torn worried about him, Torn's life would not be worth living.


End file.
